


Queen of Ashes

by luckandillusions



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Feels, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Drama & Romance, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family, Family Drama, Grief/Mourning, Heroine's Journey, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2019-10-19 01:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17592389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckandillusions/pseuds/luckandillusions
Summary: The realm is at war and the kings have made their claims, but not everyone can be a king. Every player is a chess piece in someone else's game, and if it gets them what they want, some of them are willing to watch the world burn.





	1. Prologue

**"W** e'll go East," his mother had promised, while rubbing her swollen belly. She painted beautiful pictures of the land across the Narrow Sea. Tales of the beauty in Lys, the Lyseni had the same Valyrian blood in their veins as House Targaryen. Promises of the safety they would find behind the Black Wall of Old Volantis that housed any noble who could trace their lineage back to Valyria before the Doom. Rhaella had planted many dreams into her son's head, but Rhaella Targaryen had lied.

          Viserys had known the truth of it the night the storm raged on Dragonstone. There would be no "we" that included his mother. He'd been summoned to Rhaella's chambers in the midst of her labor, much to the dismay of the midwife and maester. There was blood, so much blood. But still, Rhaella had grasped his hand tightly and called him "my dear boy," even as she screamed in pain. The storm outside cast eerie shadows on the stones. Flashes of lightning lit the room in bursts, and the claps of thunder that followed echoed through the bedchamber.

           He was frozen, still as stone. He hardly noticed when his mother let go of his hand and a moment later a tiny babe was pressed into his arms. "Hold her, there's another coming," the midwife had said, her mud-brown eyes as grave as if Rhaella was already dead. He looked down at the infant. She was robust, with tiny toes plump as berries and eyes as bright and purple as lilacs. "Rhaenyra," his mother whispered. The maester had only shaken his head and muttered, "May she reign for more than half a year."

          Viserys thought of his brother, slain at the Trident if the rumors were to be believed. Rhaegar should have been King. He would have made a good king. Instead his son would be heir to King Aerys. Aegon was only a boy, but already Prince of Dragonstone. Rhaenyra would be his Queen one day, when the war ended.  _And the war_ will _end_. Viserys had said it so many times he almost believed it.

          But Rhaella Targaryen would not be there to see that day, that much had become clear. The second child would rob them all of a mother. Outside the storm raged on, though the lightning had stopped. Viserys looked down at his sister, her purple eyes starring up at him.  _The lightning is in her eyes_ , he thought.

          The second girl burst into the world with a wail, her cries so loud he thought surely she must be dying. Rhaella's voice could hardly be heard over the screams as she spoke the child's name. Then she took her son's hand again. Her violet eyes were sad, they were always so sad. It was as if she saw the horrors of the world in her very dreams. "You must protect them," she said, her voice barely a whisper on the wind. And then, like a candle going out, Rhaella Targaryen died.

           A tear rolled down his chin, dropping on his sister's forehead. Rhaenyra didn't cry. She only stared with her big purple eyes. Daenerys wailed enough for everyone in the room.

           He couldn't be sure how long he'd sat there before the wet nurse came for Rhaenyra. Viserys wouldn't leave her side, however. He hovered making the woman uncomfortable, until she was done and Rhaenyra was returned to his arms. The first Rhaenyra was the daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen. "When we're in the East, I'll be like your father," he whispered in her ear. "You'll learn from me, like she learned from him." But that was yet another thing Rhaella had lied about.

           The day the maester brought the raven from King's Landing, the wet nurse cried. Viserys might have too, but he was the last son of King Aerys II Targaryen and princes did not cry. "We're to go East. Mother promised," he said, though those were a boy's words. He was almost a man grown. "It isn't safe in King's Landing, everyone knows that."

          "The King commands it," the maester said regretfully. "It isn't my place to question him."

          "He can't have her, she's mine," Viserys said, turning his back to shield the girl. "Mother said I must protect her." The light through the window, reflected in Rhaenyra's purple eyes. They were light, so light they seemed blue in some lights. It was the color of the pale lilac of dawn. Her hair stuck up in little tufts of white, like soft clouds.  _Dawn_. It was a commoner's name. For a moment he almost considered spiriting her away and disguising her as a milkmaids' daughter.  _The Dawn Princess_. But that would never do. Not even the dragonseeds of the island showed the Targaryen coloring like she did. Perhaps he could switch the girls, send Daenerys to King's Landing instead. But the maester and the wet nurse would know right away. Rhaenyra was more robust and so much quieter. Daenerys would wail half way to the Red Keep.

          In the end he relinquished Rhaenyra to the maester's hands. "We will usher in a new dawn for House Targaryen," Aerys had written. Viserys tried to hold onto the words. Maybe they were true. The King could win the war and have his family back together before year's end. But the servants whispered otherwise. "The city will burn," they said. "Aerys will see his daughter burn beside him." A part of him wanted to shout back,  _fire cannot kill the dragon!_  They would rise from the ashes better and stronger and take their fire to the usurper and his dogs.

          But still, tears glimmered in his eyes when dawn came and his sister was taken away. The wet nurse had the compassion to shove Daenerys into his arms, but the girl only took up her wailing again. She was hot to the touch as if fire burned under her skin.  _Daenerys is fire, but fires can be put out. Rhaenyra was lighting, sharp and uncontrollable, and she had the sun in her eyes_.

**♔ ♔ ♔ ♔**

          Viserys woke in a tangle of blankets wrapped so tightly around him he could hardly breathe. The hot Pentoshi sun beat down on him through the window. The silhouette of a girl stood on the balcony, long silver hair cascading down her back. "Dawn," the name was a whisper on his lips, but the girl turned. It wasn't Rhaenyra. It was only a silver-haired bed-slave from Lys. Her eyes weren't even purple.

          "You missed dawn, m'lord," she chided, her voice sultry and smooth. She sauntered toward him, hands lifting to push the bedrobe from her shoulders.

          Viserys held a hand up to stop her. "Not now. I have matters to discuss with Illyrio. Have him brought to my solar, with wine." The whore frowned, but hurried off. Viserys walked to the balcony, overlooking the Magister's gardens. Dawn was gone, and Rhaenyra was dead. But he had long ago pushed his regrets aside. He was the last dragon, and there was a crown waiting for him across the Narrow Sea.


	2. Amina I

**T** he Godswood were beautiful this time of day. The sunlight came in through the red leaves and cast a glow on the pool below. Amina lay beneath her favorite tree, a tall soldier pine with a multitude of thick branches meant for climbing. The sticky sap on her dress was evidence enough that she'd already climbed the tree once that day, and was giving serious consideration to a second trip up.

          Her considerations were cut short by an attack, she let out a tiny squeal as a blur of black and grey pinned her to the ground. She kicked, her legs causing her skirts to hike up around her waist, and clawed at the dark haired boy. Finally she gained the upper hand. They'd been here too many times. She knew all his weaknesses. Amina flipped him over, straddling him. Her own black hair had fallen out of its braid and cascaded around her face as she stared down at him with a grin. "You make this too easy, Snow."

          "Catelyn sent me," Jon said, sheepishly. It wasn't the first time her lady mother had sent hunters after her, and it was surely not the last. Jon Snow was the only one who could ever find her. "You had me worried too. I thought you'd run away this time for sure, Ami."

            Amina leaned down, her face hovering above his. "You know I'd never run away without you." She ran a lot, but the furthest she'd ever gone was Castle Cerwyn. Lord Medger had invited her to stay for supper and then sent her back to Winterfell with an escort. Amina would have come back anyway, she always did. She'd learned long ago that running scared Catelyn Tully half to death, and when Catelyn was scared she was like to give Amina whatever she wanted. Running had gained her almost everything important in her life: her knives, sword fighting lessons, peace and quiet. The only thing she  _hadn't_  begged out of Ned and Cat was Jon Snow.

          Jon propped himself up on his elbows to close the distance between them, and pressed his lips to hers. It was a sweet, soft kiss. He tasted of pine and honey. Amina sat up quickly. "Are there honeycakes?"

          Jon nearly choked on his laughter. "There are if Arya hasn't eaten them all by now. If you want some, you should hurry inside."

          She rolled off him, dropping back into the pine-needle bed beneath the trees. Small, red-eyed Ghost licked at her face. Amina lifted a hand to scratch under the direwolf's chin. "If I go in, Catelyn will find me and want to lecture me on being a proper lady. As if I don't know how to put on a good show." Amina ran her fingers though her hair, untangling the rest of her braid. "I won't embarrass anyone in front of the King."

          "Your hair's fading," Jon noticed, reaching out to twirl a piece of grey-black hair around his finger. "She'll want to dye it again before the royal family comes." As if attempting to protect Amina from that fate, Ghost clambered into her lap.

          Amina groaned, a long drawn out noise, and stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. "The dye makes it smell for a week. Tyrosh is famed for their dyes, yet they can't manage to remove the stink? I bet someone at the market is cheating us. It's probably not Tyroshi dye, it's probably some tar they cooked up in a kettle." She held a chunk of particularly faded hair up to the light; if she squinted she could almost see the silver. Or maybe that was just grey.

          "Do you want to run away?" She asked suddenly. Amina had thought about it a hundred times. The world was so big and full of mysteries, and she'd only seen one tiny corner of it. "We could go to King's Landing, where my family lived. Or across the Narrow Sea on a trading galley. We could be sellswords in the Golden Company, or merchants in Qarth. Or we could learn magic in Asshai and never want for anything ever again."

          "You won't want for anything," he said after a moment. "Not when you're the Lady of Winterfell." Jon looked at her with his sad grey eyes. She'd known for most her life that she would marry Robb Stark one day. Their betrothal was a secret from most. To the world she was only a highborn girl from an extinct house. Ned and Cat had taken her in as a ward, raising her alongside their children, grooming her to be the perfect little lady. They'd even gone through a whole show of parading her off to the seats of all the Northern lords as if they were actually seeking a match for her. But nothing would change her blood. She was a dragon and one day there would be no more hiding it.

          "I don't want to be Lady Stark. I don't want to raise children and sit on my hands while men fight battles leagues away. I want adventure." It was the only thing she couldn't weasel out of Catelyn with her running. She'd conceded to Amina's sword fighting lessons, and her throwing knives. Allowed her to go on hunts and attend tourneys as far south as the Twins. But whenever she asked to be set free, her lady mother would only pet her hair and promise that one day Ned would tell King Robert of her lineage, and Amina would finally be free. They had very different definitions of the word.

           Jon shook his head. "You're lucky." They'd had this conversation a dozen times. There were so many things they understood about each other. Bastards and orphans were not so different. Surrounded by loved ones, they were still alone. But on this matter they couldn't be more opposite. "Thousands of girls would kill to be in your shoes."

          "I'd gladly hand them over without all the bloodshed," she quipped. "I'd be a peasant if it meant I could be with you."

           Before he could answer, there was a shout from the gate of the Godswood. "Jon? Did you find her?" Catelyn's voice was tinted with worry. Still, she remained outside the gate. Catelyn Tully never entered the Godswood without a reason. It was just one of the many differences between Amina and the woman who raised her. "I see you sitting on the ground. Is she hurt? Don't tell me she fell out of a tree again."

          Amina pushed herself to her feet with a huff. The direwolf barked as he tumbled into the pine needles. "I'm quite all right!" She called toward the gate.

          Catelyn tore through the trees and wrapped Amina in a hug. She squeezed tight enough to crush bone, but Amina knew she was more than strong enough to shake Cat off if she wanted to. But she never did. At the end of the day, Lady Stark was the closest thing she'd ever had to a mother. The love she gave was welcome, even if it was often stifling.

          When Catelyn finally let go, she ran her hands over Amina's hair, taking a good look at her. "You nearly scared me to death. I thought for sure someone had kidnapped you this time." It was unusual for Amina to run off without first kicking up a fuss. But this time hadn't been a ploy to gain anything, only a moment to breathe. "Your hair is much too light, this won't do. Come inside, there's still time to set the dye before dinner."

          Amina let out a long sigh, but she knew better than to argue. There were few things that Catelyn stood her ground on, but the hair dye was one of them. Jon gave her an apologetic look from the ground, and an awkward half wave as Catelyn tugged Amina out of the Godswood and toward her smelly fate.


	3. Catelyn I

         **P** laying with her daughters' hair had always been relaxing for Catelyn. That was the reason she took on the task of washing and dying Amina's hair even now. She trusted her handmaids and servants well enough, but why pass along the job when doing it herself was just as easy and a hundred times more relaxing.

          Sansa had caught them on the stairs and followed them up, eager to have Amina as a captive audience to her stories. More oft than not, Amina found excuses to escape the younger girl. While the dye set in Amina's hair, Catelyn brushed her own daughter's auburn locks till they shined. All the while, Sansa went on about the royal family. Her direwolf, Lady, lay curled up at her feet. "The Queen has two brothers. Jaime is in the Kingsguard, they say his hair shines nearly as bright as his armor."

          "They also say he killed the last king," Amina muttered. Sansa pretended not to hear, and continued on.

          "Queen Cersei's children are just as beautiful as she is. Joffrey is near my age, they say he might be as brave a knight as Ser Jaime one day."

          Amina screwed up her nose. "Who is this  _they_ you keep referring to, and why do you believe  _they_  know anything about the royal family?"

           "Jeyne Poole knows all the best stories," Sansa explained, not catching the biting sarcasm in her sister's tone. "I'm surprised you haven't heard about them. I can help you brush up of your studies if you'd like. I could even help with your needlework if you would like to make something nice for the Queen."

          Even Catelyn had to laugh then. Sansa gave her mother a scalding look in the mirror. "Sansa, I'm afraid not even you could save Amina's needlework. Everyone has something they must work at." The redhead frowned, as if unsure what the appropriate response was.

          "I appreciate the offer, but mother's right," Amina said from her chair. "Your hands were meant to sew, mine were meant to throw knives." She pantomimed throwing one of the silver knives on her belt. Catelyn was almost surprised Amina hadn't actually let one loose, it would have scared Sansa into tears. But, no, Amina was not Arya. She was no proper lady, at least not when it came to needlework, but Amina had grace. If only she could teach Arya how to wield courtesies, instead of weapons.  _On second thought, I can't imagine having two daughters who know how to kill a man with words_ and _knives_.

          Catelyn twisted Amina's freshly dyed hair back from her face. She brushed it through, one last time, with a dash of rose water to hide the telltale smell off Tyroshi dye. "There you are, good as new." Amina ran her fingers through her hair, admiring the way her hair shown. Even with so many layers of dye, it still gleamed with an otherworldly quality. It was as if they'd turned the silver-gold to obsidian.

          "You look like a princess," Sansa said wistfully. "Even the King will say so."

           "Go on, both of you," Cat said, shooing her daughters toward the door. "You'll have new dresses waiting for you in your rooms." Sansa and Amina looked at each other with grins. Dresses were one thing the eldest girls could agree on. Despite her affinity for weapons, Amina still loved a fine gown.  _Too much_ , Catelyn thought with a shake of her head. She'd ruined more than a few while play fighting with the boys in yard.

         "I can't wait to meet the prince, they say he's dashing," Sansa singsonged as they walked out the door. "Aren't you excited?"

           "You mean Jeyne Poole says he's dashing," Amina said. "There isn't a boy Jeyne Poole  _doesn't_  find dashing. I'm only excited for the food, Jon said there were honeycakes."

          "Those are meant for tomorrow," Sansa warned.

          Amina let out one sharp laugh. "If we wait until tomorrow, Arya will have them all eaten." Sansa's resulting giggle carried down the corridor. As Catelyn put the combs and perfumes in their proper places, Catelyn smiled to herself.

          No sooner had the girls departed than Eddard appeared in their place. She paused her tidying to turn toward him. "Preparations are almost complete for the King's arrival. Even with such a short time to prepare, the rooms are ready and the kitchens are overflowing."

           Ned glanced toward the hall with a raised eyebrow. "Not if that one has anything to say about it. She nearly slid down the balustrade singing something about honeycakes."

          Catelyn pressed two fingers to her forehead and sighed. "It's a miracle her wardrobe isn't in tatters."

          "To think we believed age would make her manageable." They both laughed quietly at the idea.

          "Perhaps the North could do with a bit more of her humor," Catelyn noted. The Northerners had always possessed a strange solemnity. It was present in everything from their castles to their house words.

          "Perhaps your right," Ned acquiesced. He crossed to the window and looked down at the courtyard below. It was bustling as everyone hurried to make last minute preparations for the King's arrival. "It's been too long, and this day is endless."

          Cat shook her head amused. It was nice to see Eddard this happy, even with the news of Jon Arryn's passing. Though the weeks of the King's visit would be chaotic, it would all be worth it if it could lift Ned's spirits. But still, there was the matter of a direwolf dead in the snow with a broken antler in its throat. A bad omen for things to come.

          She touched Ned's arm lightly. "Come, I'm sure there are still preparations to be made. The day will go quicker if you have something to do."

          He sighed. "I came here for a break, and you're sending me back to work." Catelyn smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, willing the dread she felt to go away. 


	4. Eddard I

******I** t was a chilly, late-summer morning when the King's party arrived in Winterfell. From the look of it, Robert had brought half of King's Landing along with him. Most would make camp outside the castle walls, while others would be lodging in the winter town, only the royal family and their household would be staying within the castle. Even still, it was enough to throw all of Winterfell into a flurry of activity. Feats were to be held, and Robert would want to hunt, of course. There were a thousand things to get in order, and they'd only been given a few short weeks to prepare.

          Nine years had passed since Ned had seen Robert Baratheon, and he was unsure what to expect. The Iron Throne was known to change those who sat upon it. How would Robert have changed in the years since?

          Ned needn't wait long to find his answer. If it weren't for Robert's roaring voice and the bone-crushing hug he gave his old friend, Ned might not have recognized the man at all. He'd gained at least eight stone since the day they stood in Balon Greyjoy's fallen castle and accepted the rebel lord's surrender and his youngest son as hostage and ward.

           Theon Greyjoy chose that moment to whisper something into Amina's ear that sent the girl into a fit of barely contained giggles. The dark haired girl clung to his arm, and hid her face in his shoulder until she managed to compose herself. After which, she delivered a stealthy punch to his ribs that made the lordling grimace. Ned gave them both a look of warning, but too late. Their antics had already caught the attention of the King.

          Robert stopped in front of Amina, where she stood a few rows back. She gave him a shy smile, though Ned knew it was only a ruse. He couldn't remember a time when the girl had truly been shy. Amina curtsied, but the King continued to stare. Eddard knew what Robert was seeing.  _Lyanna_.

          There was many a time when even Ned saw Lyanna in the girl. It wasn't Amina's look, no, her coloring was wrong. Lyanna had hair the color of chestnuts, and eyes grey as the bricks of Winterfell. Whereas Amina's hair was coal black, and her eyes were blue as ice. No, they shared no common features, but they carried themselves the same way. There was defiance in the way Amina rolled back her shoulders when she spoke, and a sparkle in her eye that said she was always in on the joke. Like Lyanna, she rode horses as well as any man, and practiced with bows and swords until blisters bubbled on her hands. But Amina was no wolf.

          After a long moment, Robert appeared to realize he had been staring, but offered no word of apology. "You have a name, girl?"

          "Amina," she answered, voice crisp, almost indignant. There were few things she loathed more than giving her stolen name. "Lady Amina Corrigan, your grace." She curtsied again, and gave the King another smile.

          "Ah, the  _other_  ward." He nodded as if her answer explained everything. House Corrigan had gone extinct during the Rebellion. They'd been small and confined to an island, not unlike the Mormonts. But their Lord Corrigan had been young and eager to prove himself on the mainland, so eager that he'd committed all his fighting men to Robert's cause. When Beldain Island was abandoned, save for the women, children, and old men, the Ironborn took the opportunity to attack. They had carted off their gold and their women, and then burned the rest.

          What had been a tragedy for House Corrigan had proved a Gods' blessing for Amina. The Beldish were known for sable hair and pale blue eyes. The girl's coloring was near enough to match, and those that knew the islanders well enough to tell the difference had burned with the Corrigans.

          "Leave it to the Ironborn to rob this kingdom of Beldish beauty," Robert said, going as far as to spit on the ground, much to his Queen's disgust. Theon shifted uncomfortably, but Amina had him firmly in her grip. "Leaves you to carry it on. Surprised there isn't a line of suitors at the gate for you."

          Amina gave a polite laugh. "Lord Stark frightens them all away."

          That earned a chuckle out of the King as well. He still had the same loud, hearty laugh he'd had since they were boys. "I wouldn't doubt that for a moment." Robert clapped a hand on Eddard's shoulder. "Let the girl have some fun, Ned!" Amina shared a look with Theon that nearly had them both in stitches again. It was unlike the girl to be so free with her laughter in front of guests, but with the stresses of the past weeks Ned couldn't fault her for it.

          Ned just shook his head; the girl had plenty of fun, though perhaps of a different sort than the King was implying. Amongst the household, his wards were thought to be a two-headed terror. When they weren't stealing from the kitchens or sparring on the roofs, they were in the winter town. Of late, their favorite haunt was the Smoking Log, an alehouse known for its brawls. From the bruises Amina returned home with, it was evident it was more than just silver she put at risk.

          "Come, meet the rest of my children," Ned called.

          Robert turned and threw his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Yes, and then take me down to your crypts, Eddard. I would pay my respects." As they moved on, Ned noticed that the King wasn't the only one whose attention had been captured by Amina. The Queen's eldest brother, Ser Jaime Lannister, was watching her as well. Ned frowned. Though he wasn't certain why, the look on the knight's face left him with a sense of dread.


	5. Jon I

**J** on had been tucked in the back of the hall with the younger squires, but he didn't mind. The company here was surely better than that of the royalty on the dais. He'd had the chance to judge them all from his vantage point as they entered the Great Hall. The Queen, though beautiful, wore a smile like wax. Her King was no more impressive, fat and sweating though his silks.

          Robb escorted Princess Myrcella in, grinning like a fool. Jon didn't see much in her to inspire that sort of reaction, the tiny blonde seemed uninspiring and commonplace compared to the princess they spent every day with. Arya and Sansa entered with Princes Tommen and Joffrey respectively. The eldest prince, though younger than Jon, was taller, and he frowned at the hall as if it were beneath him. Sansa didn't appear to notice however, and smiled up at him dreamily.

          Among the last to enter were the Queen's brothers. Ser Jaime was tall and gallant with golden hair and he wore the white armor of the Kingsguard. He looked like a true knight straight out of Sansa's beloved songs. The dwarf was more than a few steps behind, attempting to keep up.

          On the arm of the Kingslayer, was Amina. Her hair was newly dyed and so black it seemed to drink in the light. Her gown was silver and white, like Sansa's. But Amina wore rubies around her neck and dangling from her ears, red and sparkling like dragon blood. She looked every bit the princess that she was. Ser Jaime whispered something in her ear and she laughed, not the polite giggle she'd given King Robert when he praised her beauty, but a true laugh. Jon could see the smirk on her face when her eyes darted toward the dais, and knew the next words out of her mouth were some scathing joke. It was Jaime's turn to laugh then. They seemed as if they were old friends.

          He'd started drinking then, and had not stopped. There was no one here to limit him to only one glass of wine, and he told himself he was fortunate in that.

          Some time later, uncle Benjen joined them at the back table, squeezing in beside Jon and stealing away his summerwine. He took one look at his nephew, who'd long since lost count of how many glasses he'd had, and laughed. "Well, I believe I was younger than you the first time I got truly and sincerely drunk."

          Benjen scratched between Ghost's ears under the table, and snuck him a chicken leg while no one was looking. Jon hardly noticed, for across the room Amina's head was bent toward Jaime Lannister's as they talked so intensely it was as if they were sat alone. Jon had sat with her like that a hundred times, and more oft than not she could be found with Theon Greyjoy, heads bent together plotting something sure to get them both in trouble. But they, along with Robb, had been by her side for years.

          "Have you heard a word I've said, boy?" Benjen asked, waving a roast onion in Jon's face. "You fancy the Corrigan girl?" It took half a moment for Jon to recall the name Amina was most known as, and when he did, he flushed. "They do say she's the darling of Winterfell, or the terror, depending who you ask."

          "Depending on the day," Jon murmured.

          "She's the only one on the dais who appears to be enjoying herself," his uncle noticed. "Other than the King." Jon had realized that too. His father was polite but withdrawn, and the Queen was cold as an ice sculpture. Even his half-siblings seemed finally to realize their companions were less interesting than expected. Only Amina's glowing smile matched the King's drunken revelry, and she knew better than to be in her cups at a feast.

          If only Jon himself had half the restraint. Her words came back to him from the evening before. She'd asked him to run away with her, as she had a dozen times before. Each time he'd turned her down, for this reason. This world, with nobility and politics and feasts, it was her world. She belonged here, in Winterfell, with Robb. No matter how she begged, Amina Targaryen was not meant to be a bastard's wife. She would always want for more, she would always deserve a crown. Jon could never give her that life, but just like Amina, he wanted for more as well.

          He turned back to his uncle, a man of the Night's Watch, an honorable order. Jon would never be a Lord like Robb, never command armies like Bran and Rickon, but in the Night's Watch he could be  _something_. "When you go back to the Wall, take me with you."

          Benjen watched his nephew for a heartbeat. "The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon."

          "I know what I'm asking, and I am ready to take an oath."

          His uncle glanced toward the dais, then back to Jon. "We have no families, none of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up. Come back to me when you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

          "I will never father a bastard," he insisted, enunciating each word. "Never!"

          The table had fallen silent, the other men watching the altercation between uncle and nephew, and Jon felt the tears welling up in his eyes. He stood, and stepped away from the table. "I must be excused." It was the summerwine, he'd had too much. On his way out of the hall, he nearly tripped over his own feet and he stumbled into a serving girl who spilled her tray.

          He hardly acknowledged the laugher, or the hands that offered to help him keep his feet. Jon pushed through the doors and stepped out into the yard. He took up a dulled practice sword and swung it at one of the targets. Once, twice, three times. Straw flew around him.

          "If you take the arm off, Ser Rodrick will make you sew it back on yourself." Jon turned at the familiar voice. Amina stood there, in her gown and jewels, looking entirely out of place in the training yard. She climbed up on the railing, as if she were wearing leather pants and a tunic instead. "You made quite a fuss inside. That poor serving girl ran crying into the kitchens."

          Jon flushed. "I drank more than I ought have."

          She hummed. "Then you're in good company. Most of the hall could say the same, not the least of which the King himself." Amina pushed herself from the railing, and took the sword from his hand, returning it to the stand. She led him around the corner, out of sight of the sentry on the battlement. One of her hands tangled in his curls. "Are you alright?"

          Jon nodded, though Amina's frown indicated she saw right through it. But he couldn't tell her the things he'd thought, couldn't tell her he'd asked to be taken far away. Before she could ask again, he leaned her against the wall and brought his lips down to hers. Her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him closer toward her.

          After a moment, she pulled away, looking up at him. "One day, we'll be free of this. I feel it in my bones. We were meant for more than this."

            Jon kissed her forehead. "Go. They'll miss you inside." She held him in her arms for a moment, then gave a nod. "Give them a good show."

          "I always do." Amina let him go, and slipped out from under his arms. When she was halfway to the door, she turned to curtsey and give him a wink, before disappearing back into the great hall. When she was gone, Jon stood there in the yard, alone. 


	6. Arya I

**A** rya found Amina and Jon sitting in the windowsill of the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep. She wiggled herself between them with a grin. Her direwolf, Nymeria, danced around below, urging Ghost to play. "Has Robb beaten the prince yet?" She asked, reclining her head against Amina.

           "Once or twice," Amina told her with a smirk. They'd all decided Prince Joffrey was an entitled brat. Only Sansa remained under his spell, but that was to be expected. "Avoiding needlework?"

          The younger girl huffed. Arya had always considered Amina her favorite sister. Maybe they shared no blood, but when Sansa was the other option, it was easy to choose. Sansa was always so difficult to get along with, but Amina shared Arya's affinity for weapons and horses. And while Sansa considered those affinities faults, Arya had no such disdain for Amina's love of dresses and histories, though she'd rather avoid them herself. "How did you get out of lessons?" Arya asked, linking her arm through her sister's.

          Amina shrugged a shoulder. "I've been given leave of my lessons with Septa Mordane. I suppose it's a consolation. When the rest of you go to the capital, I'll be left behind." Arya frowned at the reminder. She overheard her father discussing Amina with the King. Robert wanted Amina to join them; there were many more suitors in the south, after all. But Ned had insisted she was better suited for the North, and ought to stay behind to help Catelyn run the day-to-day business of Winterfell.

          "Left behind to be a  _Lady_ ," Arya reminded her. With a teasing smirk, she added, "You and Robb might as well be married already." Beside them Jon intently watched Bran fight the younger prince. "I don't want to go to King's Landing, can't you beg mother to let me stay?"

          Amina ruffled the girl's hair. "I doubt it would have much effect. Besides, the capital will be good for you, just wait. When you return you'll speak half a dozen languages and have friends from every corner of the world." Her eyes glittered at the prospect, so Arya kept her mouth shut and her opinions to herself. 

          They all looked back down as Bran rushed at Tommen again. "I could do just as good as Bran," Arya insisted.

          "You're too skinny," Jon said with a laugh. "I doubt you could even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one."

          "Neither could Bran! They're using wooden swords."

          "She is right. We all start somewhere." Amina smiled softly.

          Below Joffrey challenged Robb to a fight with live steel, but Ser Rodrick refused. Arya wondered if it was because he knew Robb would win. The prince would surely run crying to his mother and then they might all be in trouble. "Oh, let them fight!" Amina taunted. Theon smirked up at her and she laughed. "Come, Arya. The show's over, and there's something I want to show you before Catelyn chases you down."

          Arya climbed down from the windowsill, leaning against it while she waited for Amina to follow. Amina put her hand on Jon's shoulder and squeezed. Leaning down over his shoulder, she whispered, "See you tonight." In the yard, Theon watched them with a frown. Amina blew him a kiss. Then she turned, tossed her arm 'round Arya's shoulder, and led her into the keep.

          In Amina's room, Arya made herself comfortable on the bed, stretching out like she had a hundred times before, while Amina searched though her wardrobe. She hardly remember the last time Amina had left Winterfell for any length of time. Arya was so used to sneaking into Amina's room whenever she felt like it to listen to stories until she fell asleep.

          Amina turned, and laid out her knife roll across the bed. Arya slid over to inspect them. She'd seen Amina throw them countless times, but never had she been so close. Amina slid one out and turned it over in her hand. It was silver, like all the others, but the handle was polished obsidian, not bone like the rest. "A knight gave me this knife, years ago at a tourney. This is the knife I taught myself to throw with. Take it to King's Landing with you."

          "Oh, I couldn't!" Arya protested, even as she took the knife in her hands and turned it over like Amina had. The obsidian was as black as Amina's hair, and near as shiny. It felt like she was holding something important, and she knew without a doubt this was Amina's favorite knife.

          "It's the last knife I reach for," Amina explained, as if she'd read her thoughts. "It's weighted differently from the rest. Here, I'll teach you how to throw it, and then you can practice while you're gone."

          "Do you name knives?" She asked, still studying the knife.

          "No, only swords." Amina smiled conspiratorially. "But perhaps you should be considering a good sword name too." Arya furrowed her brow, but before she could ask any questions, Amina was pulling back a tapestry on her wall, exposing a makeshift target beneath it. "Come on, let me show you how to throw her."


	7. Amina II

           **T** he Godswood were quiet as Jon's words hung in the air between them. Going to the Wall to take the black.  _I should have know_ , she cursed. It had been near a moon's turn since he'd decided, but no one had spoken the words to her face and she turned a deaf ear to the chatter. She'd been so busy. After Bran had fallen from the Burned Tower things had seemed to speed up, and Amina was always running to catch up with them. Her nights were consumed with worry for Bran, and her days were spent grooming her sisters for the capital. Amina hadn't even gone out of her way to avoid Jon, she just hadn't time to sneak away. But finally the time had come.

          In the Godswood, under her favorite soldier pine, he said goodbye. "We always knew this had to end," he said, though she could hardly hear over the pounding of her heart in her chest.  _He must hear it; he must know this will kill me_.

          "It doesn't have to," she whispered.  _Queens don't beg_ , she scolded herself, but that didn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth. "You can stay. Please." Her vision was cloudy with tears, but she didn't dare raise a hand to wipe them from her eyes. She'd used her tears a hundred times to get her way, why would this be any different?

          Jon kissed her, hard and hungry as if this were their last kiss. As if he had to burn the taste of her into his memory.  _This is_ not _our last kiss,_  she promised herself.  _I won't let it be._ Amina could taste the salt of tears, but wasn't sure if they were his or her own. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

          Amina felt the snow under her knees. She didn't remember falling. Her forehead pressed into the bark of their tree. For hours she stayed like that, letting the sobs tear through her body until they finally ran out. The sun came up, and the castle grew quiet. He was gone, she knew. They all were. Amina was alone.

**♔ ♔ ♔ ♔**

          Amina bounced Rickon on her hip, while they watched Robb and Theon spar in the yard. Robb had been graduated from blunted training swords to live steel, and was determined to make good use of the new weapon. Amina wanted nothing more than to join them, but someone had to care for the youngest boy. Ned and the girls were eight days gone and Catelyn hadn't been seen outside Bran's bedchamber since.

          "Lady Corrigan," Maester Luwin called from the terrace. "May I have a word?"

          Amina gave a nod, and sat Rickon atop a hay bale. "Mind the boy," she warned Robb, before turning to Rickon and urging him to stay in his seat. Luwin stood at the top of the stairs, with books and papers. "Are we back to lessons then?"

          The maester shook his head, and offered her a list. "Unfortunately, we are not. There are appointments to be made, ones that cannot wait." Amina scanned the names upon the list. "We're in need of a new captain for the guard, for one. Then there's the matter of food stores, the King's men had healthy appetites."

          "And winter is coming," Amina finished. "Catelyn should review the figures,  _and_  the names." She hardly paused before she answered her own thought. "But Cat hasn't left Bran's bedside in a fortnight." Maester Luwin gave a small nod. "Very well, Robb and I will review the necessary tasks on the morrow, will that be alright?"

          For a moment, she thought Luwin might protest. But they both looked down at the scene below. Robb, though sweating from the fight, was grinning like she hadn't seen since Bran's fall. "Very well," he acquiesced.

          The maester retreated into the keep, and Amina lingered on the terrace for a moment, watching her boys from above. It was good to see smiles on their faces, though she couldn't imagine conjuring one of her own. For a moment Robb looked unburdened, like the boy he was supposed to be. Though Amina was Robb's elder only by a few short months, she hadn't been afforded the luxury of girlhood. No, she'd been tearfully removed from that bliss the day she learned her life was in perpetual danger. Sparing Robb one last day of playful sparring and smiles was an easy choice. He could grow up tomorrow.

          Amina leaned over the railing, and called out below, "Either of you brave enough to face me in a knife throwing contest?"

**♔ ♔ ♔ ♔**

          Winterfell was empty without Catelyn. At least that was how it felt to Amina, as if her departure to the south had been the tipping point. Ned and Cat were the heart and soul of the castle. Though years of lessons had been leading to this day, the day Robb and Amina would take their place, neither of them expected it would come quite so soon. But it was good for her, busywork to distract her from the dark and ragged hole in her chest.

          "Garrett of the winter town," Amina said when the subject of new guardsmen was breached. "He's lowborn, but he knows his way around weapons. I'd feel confident betting on him in a fight." In fact she had bet on him, many times. Sometimes even against Theon, but more oft against the bigger and uglier tavern-goers.

          Garrett wasn't particularly large, but he was fast and deadly. He called Amina  _Quicksilver_  for the way she drew her knives. Garrett had been at her back in countless brawls. Maester Luwin gave Amina a curious look, but wrote down the name nonetheless. Robb stared pointedly at the tapestry on the wall. He had met Garrett once, and nearly gotten himself killed in the process. It was safe to say he wasn't a fan. Amina placed her hand over Robb's with a smirk.

          "I believe that is the last of the appointments," Luwin told them, folding up his papers. "We'll continue the matters of taxes after supper?" Amina have her best impersonation of an enthusiastic nod, but as soon as the maester was out of the room, she dropped her head to Robb's shoulder.

          "It's almost as if the days grow longer," she groaned. "Would that we had an endless supper instead."

          Robb laughed. "I've seen how much you eat. If we had an endless supper, you'd grow larger than the King." Amina jabbed her finger between his ribs, causing him to jump. He chuckled again, and slipped his arm around her shoulder. It had been a long while since they were alone together, just the two of them. Almost always they had Theon or Jon along as well.

            "You haven't gone to the Godswood since–"

           "I haven't," Amina confirmed, cutting him off before he could speak the words. "It feels lonely now, even the birds are quiet."

           "We could go tonight," he offered. "With candles like we used to." It had been there, under her favorite soldier pine, that she'd told Robb who her father was. He'd been the first one she'd run to, and he taken Amina straight to the Godswood, her favorite place. Robb knew all the right things to say, and he didn't mind her tears. But that was years ago, and so much had come between them since.

          Before she was forced to reply, the doors to the hall opened, and Theon came in. "Had enough of playing Lord and Lady for today?" He called, joining them at the table.

            "If only," Amina quipped, pushing herself from the bench and getting to her feet. "Are you off somewhere?"

          "The whores and the alehouses are calling my name." Theon told Amina, tossing his arm over her shoulder, and swaying her back and forth. "And you look as if you could use a good fight. Ride with me?"

          Amina ran her fingers across her knives. Since the attack on Bran and Catelyn, she'd taken to wearing a knife belt everywhere. "The Smoking Log is surely missing our coin," she reasoned. "And I  _should_  offer Garrett his position in person." Amina pursed her lips. "Alright, I've been convinced."

          Theon stepped away and grinned. "I'll ready the horses."

          Amina turned back to Robb, and offered a hand. "Come with us."

          He shook his head. "Someone has to go over taxes with Maester Luwin." Amina bit her lip, guilty that she was shirking responsibilities already. But she could use a night away from the castle, and an excuse to leave Robb's side. "Go. I'll tell Luwin you felt ill."

          Amina put a hand on Robb's cheek and gave him a soft smile. "Sleep in tomorrow, and I'll do twice the work." He nodded, though she knew he wouldn't. Robb would be by her side, bright and early, just as he always was.

          Before she could get out the door, he called after her. "Amina?" She turned, with a raised brow. "The Godswood?"

          "Soon," she promised. In truth, Amina was afraid the trees were tainted by too many memories made bitter by the year's events. What's more, she heard the implication beneath Robb's request, and her heart had not yet healed enough to let him in.

          In the yard, Theon waited with the horses. "You're good at this, you both are," he said when Amina joined him. She furrowed her brows. "The decisions, the delegating. Being Lord and Lady."

          "I wish I could agree with you," she muttered, reaching for her destrier's reins.

          "Give it time, you've only been at it for two moons," he reminded her. "In a year's time it will be easier, you won't need to give it a second thought."

          "Gods be good, Ned and Cat will be home long before then." Amina mounted her horse, the grey-white mare she'd named Myst. "Now, please, can we have one night without talk of business?"

          "What about conspiracies?"

          Amina frowned. It had been conspiracies that had taken Catelyn away from Winterfell, all on the word of a grief-stricken woman. "Until Cat returns, there's no use speculating. We cannot know anything for certain, and if word spreads, we'll incite panic from here to King's Landing."

          "My lady!" A servant called, as they neared the gates. Amina turned her horse to face the girl. "My lady, it's Bran." She took heavy, labored breaths. Clearly she'd just run halfway across the castle.

          Amina's stomach filled with dread. "Is he..."

          The servant girl smiled, "He's awake."


	8. Lyman I

**I** t seemed that the entirety of Castle Darry had gathered in the great hall to gawk at the farce of a trial. The King himself had taken charge of the small holdfast while his party hunted down the Stark girl and her wolf. The members of oversized traveling party were unwelcome guests; the Darrys had once fought against the man after all. But there was nothing Raymun Darry could do but hope they would be gone shortly.

           He'd even sent Lyman, his only son, to hunt down the girl the day before but he'd had no luck. In the end, it was one of Stark's own men who brought her in, yet somehow she'd ended up in front of the King and Queen all alone.

          Lyman guided Sallei down the stairs, one hand holding hers, the other on the small of her back. "I may not be able to see my toes, but that does not make me an invalid," she grumbled, but still, she made no move to send her husband away. Her annoyance wasn't meant for him, it was meant for the royal family that was occupying their home.

          "Now that they've found the girl, they should be gone soon," Lyman assured her. He rubbed Sallei's back, and she sighed.

          Castle Darry was not built for hosting such a large party. Even if they had been given proper notice, which they hadn't, the staff would have struggled to cater to everyone. It did not help that the entire ordeal was ludicrous. Lyman had heard the eldest prince's story: the smallest Stark girl supposedly assaulted him, unprovoked, with the help of a commoner and a direwolf. Prince Joffrey had sniveled and whined his way through the story, and if Arya Stark had done as accused, Lyman couldn't find it in himself to blame her one bit.

          Lyman helped Sallei to a seat near the front of the room, where she'd be able to watch the proceedings in comfort. She cast a scalding glace at the royal family occupying Lord Darry's high seat, before leaning back and using her swollen belly as an armrest. Pregnancy had only succeeded in making Sallei sour. Not for the first time, Lyman wished that they had taken her father up on the offer to stay at Seaguard.

          Eddard Stark burst through the doors of the hall looking stricken. He scooped up his crying daughter, and then started in on the King and his men for putting the poor girl in this situation. They heard the stories each child told, the girl's differing dramatically from the Prince's pitiful account.

          Only the King's younger brother, Renly Baratheon, appeared to be enjoying the proceedings. He had arrived to meet the King a few days prior along with the Lord Commander and the King's Justice, as well as his own personal sword. Lyman knew little of the other knight, save that he was from the Reach. But now, as Renly joked at his nephew's expense, the knight looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but in that room. Lyman understood the feeling immensely.

          It should have been a blessing when the ordeal finally came to an end, but the wailing of the two Stark girls made it impossible to feel relieved. One of their wolves would be put to death. Lyman had a brief wish that it was the spineless Prince facing the sword, before quickly remembering himself.

          "I believe we've seen enough," he whispered in Sallei's ear. The two of them slipped into the corridor and walked until they could hear the girls crying no longer.

          "That was horrid," Sallei said with a shudder. "And your father just  _stood_  there!"

          "He had little choice. Your father would have done no different, there is no arguing with a king," he told her levelly. "I'll just be glad to see them gone."

          "Good riddance," she muttered. Sallei looked out the window for a moment, her blue-grey eyes unfocused. "Some of the Queen's ladies spoke of him, Ser Caswell," she said suddenly. Lyman leaned forward to look at the man; it was Renly's companion. "A tragic story really. He gave up his lordship to marry a commoner, only to have her die of a pox a few years later. Supposedly a favorite bard in Highgarden wrote a pretty song about it."

           "You always did love the sad songs." Lyman put an arm around his wife's shoulder, and Sallei leaned into his chest. "Me? I prefer the bawdy ones."

          She laughed. "Of course you do."


	9. Theon I

**A** mina polished her knives carefully, one at a time, and replaced them in her knife belt. Then she did the same with the knives strapped to her saddle. Theon watched her, waiting for her to join the rest of the group. They were taking Bran out for his first ride since the fall. Tyrion Lannister had brought plans for an interesting saddle and the master of horse had spent the past weeks training a gelding to respond to the reins.

          But Theon had bet Amina that he could bring down a bigger deer with his arrows than she could with her knives, and she was never one to back down from a challenge. "Thinking about what horrible favor you'll owe me after I beat you?" Amina asked, when she noticed him staring.

          Theon laughed. "More like what you'll be owing me. Come on, everyone else has headed for the gate."

          Amina shot him a look, but turned her mare around to face him. "Always so eager to lose." She gave the horse a kick and headed for the gate without a second look. Theon followed behind, paying closer attention to his friend than where he was going, and earning a kick from Myst when he pulled his courser too close.

          The dark-haired girl watched Bran as if her force of will alone could protect him. Amina had always been intense, whether she was training in the yard or stealing rolls from the kitchen. But in the past months it had gotten worse. Occasionally there were moments when she was herself again, especially when Theon could convince her to accompany him to the Smoking Log, but those trips were few and far between. Even her weapons training had taken on an edge; there were no more smiles and jokes between bouts. She was training to kill.

          "Have you spoken with Garrett since he joined the guard?" Amina asked as the passed by the Winter town's alehouse. From her expression it was not the first thing she'd said to him.

          Theon nodded. "Last night. If I tell you just how happy he is to have this job, you may reconsider the decision. It appears he's become quite popular with the ladies of the Smoking Log."

          Amina smirked. "As long as they aren't  _too_  much of a distraction." She glanced toward Robb at the front of the party. "Garrett was the only appoint we disagreed upon."

          "Garrett was a good choice, don't second guess yourself."

          Amina shot him a scalding look. "I am not. Garrett was the  _perfect_  choice." Theon laughed, and rode ahead, forcing her to pick up the pace. If anyone in Winterfell could badger Amina into acting like herself, it would be him.

          "Are you coming?" He called, over his shoulder. "You have a bet to lose!"

**♔ ♔ ♔ ♔**

          Theon drew and arrow just as Amina reached for a knife. "I saw it before you," he hissed, earning another scalding look. They both watched the buck for a moment, neither loosing a weapon. "It's mine."

          Amina rolled her eyes, but replaced the knife in her belt. Theon loosed an arrow, and Amina turned her horse in a dramatic circle, crashing through a bush and causing such a ruckus the buck immediately darted for the darkest part of the woods. Theon's arrow lodged in a tree trunk. Theon turned to snap at Amina but she had already disappeared deeper into the trees.

          It was only a few moments before Theon spotted a turkey. Not quite the prize the buck would have been, but he would have to settle. He had just shot the bird down and tied it to his saddle when he heard Amina shout in the distance. He waved for the rest of the stragglers to follow him and rode through the forest toward the sound.

          When he found Amina, she was off her horse and swinging a sword. The man she was fighting had a knife protruding from his shoulder, but it hardly slowed him down. Behind them, Robb was fighting a woman, while Summer and Grey Wind took on two more. The last had Bran, who'd been cut down from his saddle. "Call them off or I slit his throat."

          Amina took the opportunity to stab her man through the gut, and he collapsed at her feet. She turned in Bran's direction, her hand hovering over her knife belt unsure whether or not she had the shot. Theon didn't give her the chance to decide, and loosed an arrow, hitting the man in the chest. A perfect shot. Amina dropped her sword and ran to Bran's side.

          "A dead enemy is a thing of beauty," Theon announced with a grin.

          Robb threw down his own sword and marched toward him, for a moment Theon thought Robb would actually grab him by the collar and shake him. "Jon always said you were an ass, Greyjoy. I ought to chain you up in the yard and let Bran take a few practice shots at  _you_." Robb wasn't done, but the rest of his tirade fell on deaf ears.

          Amina left Bran with Maester Luwin and went to reclaim her weapons. She pulled her bloody knife from the man's shoulder and cleaned it on her cape before returning it to her belt. She joined Theon on the edge of the clearing. "Thank you. It was a good shot." Theon nodded once, though his pride had been wiped away the moment Robb had started in on him.

          That was the way it had always been. Robb Stark might claim to be his friend, but to him Theon would always be a Greyjoy. On the other hand, Amina knew what it was like to be on the outside. They could parade the girl through the North and pretend she was a Beldish Lady, but her blood would always mark her as  _other_.

          Even as Robb continued to mutter that Theon's arrows "could have killed Bran," and that he was "reckless, always so reckless," Amina slipped a gloved hand through his. The blood of the Night's Watch deserter she'd killed speckled her grey riding cape. They stood by the little creek, watching Robb and his men tend to Bran and question the surviving wildling woman. "Good shot with the knife," Theon told her. Amina's eyes flashed, vivid purple for a moment in the pale light. "You were alright with your sword too."

          "Only alright?" She said, crossing her arms. "I killed him, didn't I?"

          "I could have done the same in half as many strokes." She hummed disapprovingly. Theon shook his head, draping an arm around her shoulder. "But it was good enough."

          "You're insufferable."

          "But you wouldn't trade me for the world." Amina rolled her eyes but leaned into him. No matter what trouble they were getting into, it was always like this between them. Amina was the sister he'd always wanted. He had one back on the Iron Islands, but he hardly remembered Asha and couldn't imagine she would be any better than the one he'd chosen for himself. The daring little dragon girl, and the kraken lordling.

          Amina eyed the dead wildlings they'd each taken down and looked up at him with a smirk. "I believe I win."

          Theon looked at her a moment, before remembering their bet. "That isn't a deer."

          She glanced toward the turkey thrown over his saddle and raised and eyebrow. "Neither is that."

**♔ ♔ ♔ ♔**

          Back inside the walls of Winterfell, Theon followed Amina to her rooms, still trying to weasel out whatever task she'd deem appropriate for her winnings. "I told you, I'll just have to save it for something  _important_."

          "Alright, alright, I volunteer to ride to the Wall and drag Jon back by his ear." What Theon had meant as a joke wiped Amina's smile from her face.

          She turned her back and grabbed a large book off her desk. "I have matters to discuss with Maester Luwin. You should go do whatever it is you do when you aren't bothering me."

          Theon caught Amina's wrist as she grabbed for another tome and spun her around. Her face was unreadable, though her eyes glimmered with what he suspected were unshed tears. "Ever since they left, you've acted as if nothing was worth your time. Not me, not Robb, even the boys seem like an obligation. Just because Cersei Lannister is an Ice Queen, doesn't mean  _you_  have to follow her example. You can't be distraught over a bastard forever."

          Amina recoiled as if he'd hit her and pulled her wrist from his grasp with such force they both stumbled backward. "Distraught?" She repeated. "Is that what you think of me, that I am a pampered princess who cannot endure heartbreak?" Amina scoffed. "I am not distraught, I am  _terrified_."

          Theon shook his head, not quite understanding. "Catelyn will be home soon, and surely this conspiracy with the Lannisters is just a misunderstanding. It will all be resolved and soon Lord Eddard will tell the King who you are. By this time next year you and Robb will be wed."

         Amina let the book slip out of her hand, and it landed on her desk with a  _thwack_. "I know you mean for that to be reassuring, but it is not. Whether or not the Lannisters plotted to murder Bran, or Jon Arryn, or both, Catelyn's conspiracy is not the only thing that could get our family killed."

          Theon put his hands on Amina's arms, and she looked up at him. "Robert and Ned grew up together, he'd never–"

          "You're right, they're friends. But a secret like this could tear even the best of friends apart. I am a threat to everything Robert has built. Perhaps he would look the other way, for Ned. But what about Tywin Lannister or the Queen? If the Lannisters are who we think they are, they will do whatever it takes to maintain their hold on the Crown. What happens to Ned and the girls then?" Amina shook her head. "I've gone over every scenario a thousand times, and almost every one ends with the people I love dead."

          "If I were kinder I would leave, but I am not. I'm selfish. I can't leave the only family I've ever known. Where would I go, Beldain? The North believes that one day I'll rebuild Castle Corrigan and give it to my sons, but I won't. I can't set foot on that island and claim a birthright that doesn't belong to me. I will not live a lie forever. But the longer I lie the more terrifying the truth becomes."

           Amina leaned against his chest and let him fold her into his arms. If there were a way to reassure her, Theon couldn't find it. She didn't cry, just stayed in his arms, breathing heavy as if she'd just fought a battle. "You don't have to be alone," he promised her. "Wherever you go, I'll go with you."


	10. Robb I

**"S** ansa is just a girl," Amina chided. She slipped the letter out of Robb's hand before he could ball it into a fist or throw it on the fire. She was quiet as she read; the only sound was Robb's own footsteps as he paced in his father's study. "Clearly the Queen had a hand in this. Your sister must be frightened, imagine the state King's Landing is in. None of us was prepared for a war, least of all Sansa."

          Robb continued pacing. How Amina was keeping her head was beyond him. Perhaps it was just exhaustion, she'd been in the yard nearly all morning. More than a few Northern lords were skeptical of her joining them on the march, and she was only too eager to prove her skillset. "At least we have some news," she continued, flatting the letter out on the desk. "The King is dead, and Ned is accused of treason. It's more than we knew yesterday. I've had quite enough of the outlandish rumors from the south."

          "Is this any less incredible?" Robb countered. The very idea of his father committing treason was unthinkable, and it had been just a few short months since King Robert had been within these very walls. "And what of Arya? Sansa makes no mention of her, not even a word."

          Amina banged her fist on the table, loud enough that it startled Robb to a halt. "I am just as concerned about Arya as you, but we are a thousand leagues away. Fighting has already begun in the Riverlands. We are at war. Taking our frustrations out on a terrified child solves  _nothing_."

          Robb collapsed into his father's chair, and ran his fingers through his hair. "What do you propose we do?"

          "What else can we do but persist?" Amina circled the desk and knelt before him. "You cannot be emotional. Not now. The worst decisions are made out of anger and fear. We will give the Riverlands our aid, and then we will decide what comes next."

          Amina turned her hands over, and waited for Robb to take them. "These men do not know you. They do not know if you can win this war, or if they can trust your leadership. But you are a Stark and if anyone can win this war it is you." She stood up, and tugged his hands insistently. "Now come, I cannot go into great hall without you. If I have to listen to one more second son tell me what great plans he has to rebuild Castle Corrigan, I may actually throw myself into the moat."

          Robb smiled softly, and gave Amina's hands a squeeze before rising to his feet. "Yesterday, Bran told me he was worried all the lords dim-witted. Why else would they parade their sons and daughters in front of you and I when it's obvious they stand no chance?"

          "The boy may have a point. Which is rather unfortunate, all things considered."

          Robb tucked a strand of hair, which had escaped from Amina's braid, behind her ear. "At least the ones who aren't trying to marry you are helping you train."

          "Oh, no, some of those men are also trying to marry me, they just prefer a bit more fire in their women. But at least  _they_  serve a purpose, I've become rather more confident with a sword these past weeks." Amina rolled her eyes, but he knew she was proud of it. For every fight she lost, she learned something new, and she  _was_  improving. Robb thought that the busy castle had served to raise Amina's spirits as well, she smiled more than she had since Bran's fall, and she'd settled into their new routine. If Robb were feeling especially bold, he might even say she was settling into life with him as well. "If one more lord insinuates that I would be better suited to life behind these walls with my cross-stitch, he will return to his castle with a cross-stitch needle in his eye."

          "It may be your best work yet," he teased. "I've seen your cross-stich, it's awful." Amina brought her foot down hard on his boot. "After your showing at supper last week, I doubt anyone could say you'd be better off with cross-stitch."

          Amina huffed. "You all act as if I impaled the man. I threw my knife at a roast duck, some might call that helpful, it did need to be carved."

          "Lord Hornwood nearly died from fright," Robb reprimanded.

          "It's his own fault for allowing his soldiers to argue like common sellswords. I could hardly hear myself think.  _Someone_  needed to shut them up."

          "You've spent too much time at the Smoking Log."

          Amina scoffed. "There is no such thing."

**♔ ♔ ♔ ♔**

          It had been a long day. The Karstarks had arrived, and with them the last of the twelve thousand men who would march south. Tomorrow they would all take their leave of Winterfell. In preparation, they had been up half the night in war council, yet sleep still eluded him. It was not nerves that kept Robb awake, though there were plenty of those as well. It was the look on Amina's face when he'd asked her to stay.

          After supper she'd bid a goodnight to the lords, leaving them to their tactics and strategies. Though she was as good a fighter as any man, war was not something she had ever prepared for. But there were other things she knew better than any of them. Her mind was like a repository for stories, and Hoster Tully had told her plenty. Amina had been the only one willing to sit in his study and look at old maps and be regaled with stories from past wars and Gods knew what else.

          It was easy to overlook the importance of history when the realm was falling into chaos around them. But each Lord had listened to Amina's descriptions of campaigns from Robert's Rebellion and beyond, some more willingly than others. A particular inspiration had been the story of Cregan Stark's Winter Wolves, who had taken down hosts much larger than themselves in the Dance of the Dragons.

          Robb had always known Amina to be smart, she spent almost as much time with books as she did with weapons, though no one ever noticed that, if only because books made less noise. It had seemed only natural to ask for Amina's advice; she was riding south with them after all. But when Robb had suggested it, she had looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. Every so often, as she told her stories, she'd look over at him with glimmer in her eyes, like she could draw them both inside the story she was weaving. It was infectious.

          There was a knock on his door, so quiet that it took him a moment to realize where the sound had come from. Then there was a louder knock, followed by Amina's soft voice calling his name. He crossed the room to let her in.

          Amina stood in the doorway, her hair loose around her shoulders. She was wearing her nightdress with boots and a heavy cloak. In her hand she held a bedside candle. "I couldn't sleep."

          "Neither could I," he admitted.

          She was quiet for a moment. The wax dripped down the candle and onto the little metal plate. "Let's go to the Godswood." The words were hardly out of her mouth before he was grabbing his own cloak. A soft smile played on Amina's lips as she intertwined her fingers with his and pulled him into the hall. In that moment he would have followed her anywhere, but she took him to the Godswood, just as she'd said.

          At the gate, Amina stopped, and Robb worried that she would change her mind. This was a step forward for her, he knew, even if she wouldn't admit it. She had run here with Jon, it was here that he'd caught them years ago, the reason he was cautions around her. She loved his brother, and he would always be her second choice.

          She stepped through the gate, moving the candle before her to light the way. She drank in the trees like she was dying from thirst. Months she'd gone without the Godswood, and he knew how she felt about the trees. If not the Gods themselves, the trees were her home. She stopped in front of a solider pine. Amina's favorite, if he remembered correctly, it had been under this very tree she'd cried on his shoulder so many years ago and told him she was a dragon.

          Robb sat and leaned against the pine, and Amina sat facing him with her knees folded under her. "Our last night in Winterfell," she whispered.

          "We'll be home before you know it," he promised. Amina bit her lip. "It's all right to be scared. Gods know I am."

          "Is it that obvious?" She asked.

          "No, it isn't. You're better at this than I am, you always know the right thing to say. Helman Tallhart called you clever, Greatjon Umber says you're bold, Roose Bolton believes you to be calculating. Every lord thinks you're the embodiment of the thing they value most, even I'm not sure what you are and aren't anymore."

          "I have no idea what I'm doing either," she admitted. "I'm just a better liar than you. I've learned to give people what they want, while polishing a knife behind my back. The best show is one in which you can't see the costumes."

          Robb knew she had her secrets and plenty of reason for keeping them, but still. "Isn't it exhausting, to always be something you aren't?"

          "It's the only way I know."

          Robb took her hands and covered them with his. "You don't have to pretend with me."

          Amina smiled softly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe not." After a moment she pulled her hands away and stretched. She leaned on one hand, across his legs, caging him in against the tree. They were so close Robb could feel her breath on his skin. With her free hand, Amina brushed the hair from his eyes.

          "I wish you'd stay," he whispered.

          Amina played with his hair, but she pursed her lips together and shook her head. "You know I won't. A ruler's place is among her people."

          Robb sighed, but caught her hand in his and pressed it to his cheek. "I wish you'd stay," he repeated. "But I'm glad you'll be with me. You're the strongest person I know."

          Amina looked at him, searching his eyes for something he couldn't guess. It was the same look she'd had when he asked her to stay in the war council. Robb held still, barely breathing. She leaned toward him, and slid her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck. He remained frozen; afraid if he closed the distance between them it would break the spell. Amina pressed her lips to his and lingered just for a moment, then she was gone and Robb was left with the ghost of a feeling.

          Years had passed since Amina had last kissed him, and though it wasn't much, Robb hoped it was a sign. There would be time later to figure out what it meant. "We should go back," he whispered. "We have a long day ahead of us." 


	11. Amina III

****S**** he used another hairpin to fasten the note to the leather map. It was already covered with similar annotations in her own handwriting. Notes about natural advantages and disadvantages, nearby holdfasts and villages that could offer much needed supplies, and clearings in which they could make camp.

          Amina may have weaseled her way into lessons with knives and swords, but never had she imagined she would march with an army. She was no war strategist, but that wouldn’t stop her from helping in every way she could. Hoster Tully had taught her the maps when she was a child, and Amina remembered every story. She was determined to learn the rest of it, but it would have to be as they went.

          Already she had picked up bits and pieces from the lords bannermen. Each of them had a unique perspective on the war and how Robb should lead the troops. While Amina couldn’t advise from a military standpoint, she’d come to know each of the lords well. Greatjon Umber was fierce and fearless, the kind of man who ought to be on the front lines rallying the troops. Whereas Roose Bolton was secretive and cunning, he made Amina’s skin crawl but she would trust him to devise a particularly nasty trap.

          Those were the notes she gave Robb in private, when the lords had gone. He knew who she trusted and who she feared might turn craven and run, which man’s soldiers spent too much time in their cups, and which were likely to steal from the stores. Amina was no mistress of whisperers but she knew how to blend in. Soldiers found her a good drinking companion, and she was always eager to spar even if she ended up face down in the mud more oft than not. Lords were impressed by her knowledge of history, but she’d grown up with boys and had a casual air about her that put them at ease. When men as transparent as windowpane surrounded her, Amina’s job was easy.

          Grey Wind sat his head on her knees and whined. Amina tried in vain to shoo him away. He looked up her with yellow eyes. “Oh, you’re just as bad as Robb.” She relented and scratched the wolf between the ears.

          “Sometimes I think that wolf might  _be_  Robb,” Theon said from the doorway.

          Amina smiled at Grey Wind. “You’ve heard too many of Old Nan’s stories.” She looked up at her friend and patted the empty spot beside her. “If you’re looking for Robb, he’s with his mother. Catelyn’s just arrived from the Eyrie.”

          Theon joined her, looking over her maps. “I saw. The Blackfish is down with the men.” She grinned. It had been too long since she’d seen Cat’s uncle; his duties in the Vale kept him too busy to visit as often as they all would have liked. “He’s the only one, Lysa kept the rest of her knights around her.”

          Amina let out a long sigh, though she’d feared as much. Other than Catelyn, it seemed to her as if all the Tullys worth had been confined to the older generations. “Gods be good we won’t need them.”

          “No, you’ll singlehandedly plot out the war for us,” Theon teased. She gave him a shove, but then linked her arm through his. “Are you coming into camp tonight? Garrett’s challenged one of Umber’s men, it should be a good show.”

          “Perhaps, but I should speak with Cat first, and look for Brynden.” Before she had a chance to do either of those things, the door opened again. Amina recognized the man immediately, and nearly leapt over the bench to get across the room. “Brynden!” She crashed into him, and hugged him tight as she could.

          “That’s  _uncle_  Brynden to you,” he replied, gruffly, but picked her up so her feet dangled above the ground. “You aren’t so grown that you can forget that.” Though he wasn’t her uncle by any relation, he’d told her she ought to call him that if Robb and the girls were going to. He would have no tiny lady calling him Ser.

          “I’ve missed you, uncle,” she said with a grin. “Lysa may have kept all her other knights, but she let us have the best.” Brynden laughed, and mussed her hair. For a moment, she felt like a girl again, the maps and battle plans left forgotten on the table. But only for a moment.

          Robb and his mother emerged from the other room. Catelyn looked worried, but Amina thought she saw pride in her eyes as well. Robb motioned for the others to gather around the table. “We’ll split the host below the Neck, the foot will continue down the Kingsroad and our horsemen can cross at the Twins.” Amina pursed her lips, thinking of the stories she’d heard of Walder Frey’s stubbornness, but he was still Hoster Tully’s bannerman, surely he wouldn’t be too much of a hindrance.

          “Lord Tywin will march for our main host, leaving the riders free to hurry down to Riverrun,” Robb continued.

          “It’s a risk to split our army with a river,” Brynden warned. “But, we’d keep Jaime and Tywin separated as well. It just might be worth it.” Robb nodded, as if he’d rehearsed this plan in his head a hundred times.

          “Roose Bolton will command the foot.” The Greatjon was far too easy to provoke, and Tywin would know that. It would be best to keep Lord Umber with them in that event that they met Jaime Lannister in the field.

          “And we’ll be with the riders,” Amina finished. It was where Ned would be, and therefore Robb would want to be there too. As for her, she’d go wherever Robb went. “Catelyn, will you return to Winterfell?”

          Catelyn sighed. “My father is dying and my brother is surrounded by foes. As much as I would love to return to Bran and Rickon, I must go to Riverrun.”

          “Call the bannermen back,” Amina told Theon. “And tell Garrett you’ll be missing his fight.”

****♔ ♔ ♔ ♔** **

          With each day they drew closer to the Twins, and with each day Amina grew more anxious. They had little choice but to cross the river, it would take twice as long to reach Riverrun should they need to keep their host together and take the Kingsroad, to say nothing of the Lannister army they would face along the way. But Jaime’s army was tearing apart the Riverlands, Brynden’s outriders brought back new tales every night. The army would take Riverrun in days, if not sooner. Edmure’s host was no match for the Lannisters.

          “Lord Frey would be a fool to stand in our way,” Theon said with his usual confidence. Typically, Amina would take comfort in that, but today she was on edge.

          “Walder Frey is an ancient man with a well placed castle, no siege would work here,” Amina reminded them. “His men would just flee to the far tower and escape. We’re at a disadvantage.”

          “Damn the man,” Robb swore. “I’ll pull the Twins down around his ears if I have to, we’ll see how well he likes that!”

          “You sound like a sulky boy, Robb,” Catelyn said sharply. “A child sees an obstacle, and his first thought is to run around it or knock it down. A lord must learn that sometimes words can accomplish what swords cannot.”

          Robb looked away sheepishly, embarrassed to be berated by his mother in front of his friends. Amina and Catelyn shared a long look. “Give me a moment to change out of my riding clothes and brush my hair.” This was what she was good at, learning what people desired and using that knowledge to get her way.

          By the time the host reached the gates of the Twins, Amina was dressed in a gown with her hair pulled back like Catelyn’s. She chose her dress carefully, too shabby and she would offend the prickly Lord Frey, too fanciful and she wouldn’t be taken seriously. After months of dealing with Northern lords, Amina had honed the art. If the maesters had a link for clothing, she would surely have one forged.

          A plank bridge slid across the moat, the portcullis was raised, and a small host of Freys rode out to meet them. The leader of the group introduced himself as Ser Stevron, Lord Walder’s heir. “My lord father would be most honored if you would share meat and mead with him in the castle and explain your purpose here.”

          The lords bannermen did not appreciate the invitation and made their distrust of the Frey’s known to Robb, much to Ser Stevron’s discomfort. Amina smiled at the Frey. He was surely old enough to have grandchildren of his own, but relegated to second place until his lord father saw fit to die. It must be a tiring position. “Lady Catelyn and I will go,” she offered. “As it appears we’re the only ones with any grace.”

          Lord Manderly protested loudly, but Catelyn silenced him with a look. “Lord Walder is my father’s bannerman, I have known him since I was a girl. He would never offer us any harm.”

          “I am certain my lord father would be pleased to speak to the Lady Catelyn and,” Ser Stevron paused and looked to Amina.

          “Lady Amina Corrigan,” she supplied. Ser Stevron nodded. They left one of Lord Frey’s other sons behind as an assurance of their good intentions. Amina gave Robb a smile over her shoulder as they rode toward the castle.

          In the great hall, so many Freys greeted them that Amina felt she might have been shrunk down and thrown into some mouse hole. It didn’t help that the Freys all had a weasely look about them. Lord Frey himself looked old enough to have lived in the age of Aegon’s Conquest. Though, if he had, Aegon might have met his match in Walder Frey’s stubbornness.

          “What am I to do with you?” Lord Frey asked, looking between them. He narrowed his eyes at Amina. “I don’t even know you.”

          “Lady Corrigan, father,” Ser Stevron supplied.

          “A Corrigan,  _heh_?” The old man leered at her. “I haven’t seen a Beldish wench in a generation at least. Let me get a look at you.” Lord Frey didn’t wait for her consent, just grabbed Amina’s wrist and tugged her toward him. He eyed her closely for a moment and then let her go. “No, not as pretty as I remember. A shame.”

          Amina thanked the Gods that the North had given her a thick skin, elsewise this negotiation might have proved to be a challenge.

          “We’re here to ask you to open your gates, my lord,” Catelyn continued, steering them back to their goal. “My sons and his lords bannermen are most anxious to cross the river and be on their way.”

         “You want to know why my men linger here,  _heh_?” Lord Frey asked. “We meant to march to Riverrun – or my sons did, I’m well past marching – as soon as we amassed our strength. It isn’t our fault your brother lost his battle before we could leave. Why should my sons be eager to march to their deaths I ask?”

          “All the more reason for us to be on our way as soon as possible,” Catelyn said, politely. “Is there anywhere we can talk?”

          “We’re talking now,” he complained. Lord Frey glanced around the room at his brood. “Well, what are you waiting for? The ladies want to talk to me in private,  _heh_.” It took several minutes, and more prodding from Lord Frey, for the room to clear. “Now what do you want to say?”

          “We want to cross,” Amina told him.

          He turned his attention on her. “That’s bold of you. Why should I let you?”

          “If you haven’t noticed, there is a war outside your gates. No one is forcing you to fight it, but the Lannisters will come either way. They know no difference between those who are impartial and those who fight for the good of the Seven Kingdoms.”

          “Pretty words from a pretty mouth, but as I see it, Joffrey Baratheon sits the throne and you Northern lot are nothing but rebels.”

          Amina was undeterred. “Robert Baratheon was a rebel too. If you have so much disdain for us, why haven’t you pledged your swords to Tywin Lannister?”

          “Lord Tywin the proud and splendid, Warden of the West, Hand of the King. Him and his gold this and gold that and lions here and lions there. I’ll wager you, he eats too many beans, he breaks wind just like me, but you’ll never here  _him_  admit it,” Walder Frey ranted. “If Lord Tywin wants my help he can blood well  _ask_  for it.” And just like that, Amina knew they had won.

          “We are asking for your help, my lord,” Catelyn said humbly. “And my father and my brother and my lord husband and my sons are asking with our voices.”

          Lord Frey looked at them with little warmth. “The Tullys have always pissed on me, don’t deny it, don’t lie, you know it’s true. Years ago I suggested a match between Edmure and my daughter. Why not? I had one in mind, but if he didn’t warm to her there were plenty of others to choose from. But no, Lord Hoster gave me sweet words and excuses. But what I  _wanted_  was to get rid of a daughter.”

          Amina and Catelyn waited patiently as he went on. Walder Frey talked a lot, and with every word made it well and clear what he wanted. “Lysa is near as bad. It was a year ago, I went to the city to see my sons ride in the tourney. I proposed she and Lord Arryn foster two of my grandsons at court but Jon Arryn wouldn’t have them and I blame Lysa for that.” He paused for breath. “You say you want to cross the river? Well you can’t. Not unless I allow it, and why should I? The Tullys and the Starks have never been friends of mine.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms looking pleased with himself.

         “How old are your grandsons?” Amina asked after a moment. “The ones you meant to foster with Lysa.”

          Lord Frey took so long to answer Amina thought he might have died right there. “Eight. Or seven. One’s one and one’s the other.”

          “Oh, Bran is eight now too,” Amina said, looking to Catelyn as if a thought was just occurring to her. “Winterfell must feel empty with the family in the south, perhaps the boys could be fostered there. Bran would enjoy the company.”

          Walder grunted, but nodded once. “Freys aren’t meant for the North, too bloody cold. But it’ll do them good, let ‘em see how good they have it here.” Amina had seen the squat, ugly castle the Frey’s called home, inside and out. But if insulting Winterfell made Walder Frey more inclined to open his gates, so be it.

         “Robb could use a squire,” Catelyn suggested to Amina, as if they weren’t haggling with Lord Frey. Amina nodded, and Cat turned back to Lord Frey. “Maybe you have a younger son who’d like the honor?” It was the kind of honor no one could refuse, and besides it wouldn’t hurt for Robb to have more help. He had plenty of other things to worry about.

          “It’s about time Olyvar gets himself knighted, he’s my nineteenth son, or is it eighteenth? I can never remember. Either way, he’d make a good squire.” They all nodded, but it was clear they would need to give more to appease Lord Frey. “My youngest boy, Elmar, he’ll need a wife when he’s of age. Don’t you have a girl or two running around, Lady Stark?”

          “Sansa is betrothed to Joffrey Lannister. But Arya…” When Arya found out, she was going to be livid, but she wasn’t here. Maybe she wasn’t in King’s Landing either. The thought filled Amina with dread. If Arya was dead or missing…But, either way, they had to make the deal, so Amina kept her mouth shut while Catelyn agreed to the match.

          Walder Frey looked pleased with this development, but he eyed Amina curiously. “I don’t suppose you’re looking for a husband, Lady Corrigan.”

          Amina smiled politely. “I’m not a Stark,” she reminded him. “And I have no castle, only burnt land.” Walder Frey grunted but didn’t press the matter.

          “Are we settled then?” Catelyn asked. “We’ll foster your grandsons, take your son as a squire, and marry Arya to Elmar, and you’ll allow us to cross your bridge.”

          Lord Frey nodded slowly. “One last thing,” he said. “Your boy, the eldest, I want him to marry one of my daughters.”

          In a very uncharacteristic expression of emotion, Amina choked as if she’d swallowed a rabbit whole. Walder Frey hardly gave her a second look; he was looking so intently at Catelyn, waiting to call her bluff. Amina had the sudden urge to leave the castle, fetch Myst, and take Robb to Beldain. Curse the Corrigans and curse the war, the ghosts and the Lannisters would just have to move on. The Gods had taken too much, Robb was  _hers_.

          “He can choose whichever one he wants, I’ve got skinny ones and fat ones, virgins and widows. Roslin’s a pretty one, he might like her.”

          Amina took a long slow breath through her nose. She was behaving like a child, seeing problems as something to crash through or run from, just as Cat had chided Robb for. There were ways out of betrothals, and when the war was won they’d have more than enough time to get around it. But at present they had no time to circumnavigate anything. They needed a way across the bridge  _now_. Promises were just words, after all, and words were wind. “I suppose we have a deal.”


	12. Aylward I

           **H** e hadn't realized how much he missed Highgarden until Renly's party had passed through the gates. They'd been in King's Landing far too long. The colors and the smells and flowers brought back memories of better days. Aylward Caswell had spent more time here than he ever had at Bitterbridge, or perhaps it only felt that way. At the least, he'd made better memories in Highgarden than he ever had in his father's home.

          This wedding feast ought to have been one of them. It was extravagant in a way only the Tyrells could be, with guests from every house small and large from the Arbor to Shipbreaker's Bay. But Renly had been too busy fielding congratulations on his marriage, and shouting his own praises to anyone who would listen, to pay much mind to anyone but himself.

          The other knights in Renly's personal guard were dancing, or stuffing themselves on fancy dishes, or had disappeared with some Lady's handmaiden to a distant bedchamber. Aylward looked across the room searching for a familiar face. He found Lady Margaery in the midst of the crowd.  _Queen_  Margaery now, he would have to remember. Aylward had practically watched the girl grow up, and now she was his queen.

          At the moment, she did not look particularly regal. Some minor lordling whom Aylward did not recognize had her in his arms, and nearly dragged the Queen across the room in his drunken attempts at a dance. The lordling stumbled, letting Margaery go for a moment, and Aylward took the opportunity to slip between them. "Forgive me, my lord. May I cut in?"

          Margaery flashed him a grateful smile, and they spun away from the lordling before he could protest. It seemed that Aylward was always rescuing the young Tyrell from one thing or another; a dance partner insistent on stepping on her toes, a dreadfully boring conversation with an elderly lord from a vassal house, even Loras and Renly's own joking that often got out of hand.

          "Are you enjoying yourself, your grace?" He asked, remembering the proper honorific. They shared a smile, a silent joke between two people who had known each other for ages and suddenly had their world turned upside down. "Highgarden certainly knows how to host a celebration."

          Margaery nodded, though he thought her smile seemed a bit strained. He had attended plenty of these gatherings, though they'd grown less desirable over the years. He had little interest in forced courtesies and unneeded extravagance, but with Renly as a friend, he'd grown accustomed to it. "If you ever need anything, you can ask me," he reminded her, voice low enough they couldn't be heard over the music and laughter.

          "They're all staring at me," she whispered.

          Aylward knew the feeling well, though the eyes on him were always filled with pity, not the admiration or lust that came with being a Lady of House Tyrell. "I would think by now you'd become used to their stares."

          "It isn't the same. I'm their Queen," Margaery said, as if he needed reminding. "I didn't ask for this crown  _or_  the responsibilities that came with it. No one asked me if I wanted it." She broke off, and again Aylward just how young she was. She was just a girl who always had a smile for everyone and flowers in her hair. But this was their world; this was what it meant to be a lady of a great house. "How do I do this?"

          "The same way you do everything else, with grace." He had never been good with comforting words, and his skill at building morale came only on the battlefield. But he had no doubt that Margaery would be a great Queen, perhaps a better Queen than Renly would be King. "Believe in yourself, your grace. I do."

**♔ ♔ ♔ ♔**

          Aylward had expected they would depart shortly following the wedding celebrations, if not the very next day. Renly, however, seemed content to dally as if Highgarden was his own royal pleasure palace and there wasn't a war to wage half a continent away. But after several years in King's Landing, in Renly's personal guard, Aylward had grown used to his new king's taste for luxury.

          That wasn't to say Aylward disapproved, for it wasn't his place to judge. He merely found himself rather bored in Renly's company. The King was a great conversationalist if you liked court gossip and making mockery of the royal family. However, Aylward's interests lay in military strategy and histories. But still, they found common ground through their Tyrell friends, and Aylward had been honored to take a top spot amongst Renly's guard.

          Though he missed Highgarden and the friends he made there, the position had been too good to pass up. Serving the King's brother was more than a disowned knight from a vassal house could to aspire to, save from an appointment to the Kingsguard. Besides, the capital was further away from his former home. In the Red Keep, he was safe from unpleasant reminders. It had been a good life, if a bit unfulfilling. But with Renly's coronation, life had become more uncertain.

          "A King must have a guard of the highest caliber," Renly addressed the small gathering. He had a way of speaking in a haughty tone when he thought he'd had an especially good idea. When they were younger, Garlan and Aylward had teased him for it. "But  _Kingsguard_  is overused." He waved forward servants who carried new cloaks in an array of colors. From what Aylward could see, they looked expertly made, more like court clothing that battle garb. "You men are among the finest knights in Westeros, and have served me faithfully for years. I hope you will all accept these cloaks and a position in my Rainbow Guard."

          Cloaks were distributed and vows were taken. Loras Tyrell was unsurprisingly named Lord Commander. He took his vows first, followed by Ser Guyard Morrigen, deemed Guyard the Green. Then Ser Emmon Cuy the Yellow, and Ser Parmen Crane the Purple. Aylward took his vows last, and accepted the titled Aylward the Orange.

          The remaining two cloaks would be held in reserve. For now, five knights were enough. It wasn't as if they intended to fight battles any time soon. There were still troops to gather and plans to make, and a continent to cross before they reached the walls of King's Landing. The rainbow cloaks, despite their gaudiness, drew them together. Aylward felt as if these men were united in common cause. Even with insurmountable odds before them, they were eager to pledge their lives to their new King. Together they could do the impossible, as Robert had done before them, and unseat a King.

 


	13. Robb II

****A**** mina walked with Smalljon Umber and several of his men. One of them whispered in her ear and she laughed, an infectious sound that cut off the moment she noticed Robb watching her. “I was asking about the battle,” she told him, with a soft smile. She’d wrapped herself in someone’s cloak, as if she were cold, but the fabric bulged in all the wrong places. Even if Robb hadn’t noticed the way she curved her arm to make her shield appear as part of her body, or the sword hilt that jabbed tellingly from her hip, he would have known.

          Robb had seen her. Amina was eye-catching; a man would have to be blind to miss her. Even in the midst of battle, disguised in mismatched armor, with her hair pulled back and hidden under a half-helm, he had seen her. Robb had nearly missed his chance to capture Jaime Lannister because he could hardly look away. Not out of fear for her, but out of awe. Amina was a Northerner, it was clear, all stone and ice. She fought with a strength her frame seemed too small to possess.

          He held out a hand to her, as the Umbers dropped away to their own tents. “Come and I’ll tell you about capturing Jaime Lannister.” She smiled, but dodged his hand, surely if he got that close he’d notice her hidden armor.

          “Sounds heroic,” she teased. “Let me find a proper blanket and I’ll come by your tent in a moment.” Amina walked away, flipping the red cloak with the Umber’s chained sigil around as she went. No, he wouldn’t tell her that he knew. He’d let her believe she had another secret. It was a wonder the weight of her secrets didn’t bury her alive.

          When Amina did finally make it to his tent, she was dressed in a gown that seemed too delicate for a war camp. She had a large fur blanket wound around her shoulders, and she dropped onto his bed with a thump. “Now, what’s this about Jaime Lannister?” She said it as if word hadn’t spread through camp hours ago. Amina had always been an excellent liar, but this was only a jest.

          Robb shook his head with a soft smile. “I’m sure you heard about it from the Umbers already.” She shrugged one shoulder, but didn’t deny it. Whispering Wood had been a victory. There’d been loses, most notably Lord Karstark’s eldest sons, but he couldn’t think about that anymore. If he dwelled on it, he would only drag himself down. “Enough about war, that’s all we ever talk about.”

          “We  _are_  on the front lines,” she reminded him. “It’s rather hard to avoid the subject.”

          “I can think of a few distractions.” The battle had emboldened him, and Robb leaned toward Amina, pressing his lips to hers. Despite her clean clothes, he could still smell battle on her skin, the tang of metal and blood and sweat. It only made him want her more.

          Amina pushed him back with a raised eyebrow. “Need I remind you of your betrothal?”

         "When the war is over, we’ll give the Freys something else.” When Catelyn and Amina had returned from the Twins with a marriage pact – among other things – he’d been angry. It had been a poorly kept secret that his father planned to tell the King where Amina came from, and then she and Robb would be wed. Their children would have married Robert’s grandchildren, giving his line more Targaryen blood to strengthen his claim. But Robert was gone, and Eddard Stark was a prisoner.

          “Edmure?” Amina asked with an amused smirk. She’d never gotten along with his uncle. “Old Walder Frey will love that. He complained endlessly that Hoster refused to even  _consider_  a match between Edmure and one of his girls.”

          Robb gave Amina’s arm a tug and pulled her down next to him. She stretched out on the bed, her head resting on his chest. Robb watched her for a while. It was rare to see her like this, so at peace. He could almost imagine they were safe at Winterfell, the war was over and they were home. But the spell couldn’t last forever. “Amina? What happened?” Her whole body froze, but she didn’t speak. “What happened to us? When we were children, we were best friends.”

          With an exasperated sigh, Amina rolled away from him and pushed herself up on her elbows. “We still are.”

          Robb shook his head, ignoring her pointed look. “But, things have changed. There used to be a time when our wedding day was what you talked about in the Godswood. Then one day you stopped. Believe me, I know you never felt for me as I did for you, but you used to care.”

          Amina’s eyes flashed lilac; sharp and sparkling like a bolt of lightning. He’d made her angry, but he had her in a corner and he couldn’t back down. Maybe she’d tell the truth for once. “Of all the things you could accuse me of, you think I  _don’t care_?”

          That hadn’t been exactly what he meant. He knew she cared, but about his family and about him, but not about  _them_. “You used to talk to me, Amina. Remember when Ned told you–”

          “Of course I remember,” she snapped. “I used to be  _able_  to talk to you. You used to treat me like–” She broke off and turned toward the pillow, staring intently at the embroidery.

          Robb caught her chin in his hand and turned her face back toward him. Whatever she’d been about to say, it wasn’t the secret he wanted to hear. “If I ever did anything to push you away, I’m sorry.”

          “You never did anything wrong.” The way she said it made it clear there were things he hadn’t done right either. “It isn’t you. Any girl would be lucky to be loved by you.  _I’m_  lucky, it’s just that I–”

 _Say it,_ Robb wanted to yell _. Just say you love him._

          “I was worried Ned was wrong, that Robert wouldn’t understand. I wasn’t worried about myself; I always knew I might have to run. But what would happen to the rest of you when I was gone?” She said it so convincingly Robb almost believed it. And maybe it was true, but there was more. He knew there was more.

          But her shoulder’s slumped, and tears welled up in her eyes. Robb couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Amina truly cry, her tears had always been saved for Catelyn when she wanted to get her way. But this was not a show. “I’m sorry I said you didn’t care. I know you do.” Robb pulled Amina to his chest. She pressed her forehead against him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What I meant is–” Robb stopped himself. He’d pushed her far enough for one night. He could try again tomorrow.  _Or never_. If she said it, it would all be over. And Robb couldn’t lose her just yet; he’d lost too much already.


	14. Amina IV

           **R** obb was in the woods, crumbled against a tree that bore at least a dozen slashes. His head buried in the crook of his elbow, and he looked up as Amina approached. She stepped over his ruined sword and sat beside him. "Are you all right?"

          "No," Robb said, his voice barely a whisper. They received word from King's Landing just hours ago: Ned had been executed by order of Joffrey Baratheon. No one in camp knew how to take the news, some were angry, while others were distraught. When Robb had disappeared into the woods, Amina had felt somewhere in between.

          "Neither am I." Amina pulled him toward her, resting his head on her shoulder. Ned had been the closest thing to a father she'd ever had. He'd protected her, when a lesser man might have slit her throat. He'd raised her and taught her everything she knew. Now he was gone. "I wish we could go back to the way things were before. I want our family together, I want to go home."

          "It's my fault," Robb said quietly. "If I hadn't marched us south, the Lannisters might have let him go. We might be home, safe, not worried about what dark news will come tomorrow. What if Sansa is next?"

          Her anger flared, making her cheeks flush. It wasn't fair that Robb had lost his father, that Catelyn lost her husband. Whatever lies the Queen and her Lannister family spread, they all knew: Eddard Stark had done nothing wrong. The only person to blame for Ned's death had golden hair and a fierce grasp on the throne. "You can't blame yourself, you had no choice. War was coming whether we fought or not. If we'd stayed in Winterfell, Tywin Lannister would have destroyed the Riverlands, and when he was done they may have still killed your father."

          "And Sansa will not be next," Amina promised. "We will end this,  _you_  will end this." She wished there were more words she could say, but nothing could ease this pain. So instead she just held him, and hoped it would help them both.

          After a long while, Robb pulled away and looked at her. They both had red-rimmed eyes, and puffy cheeks. "There are times I wish you were in Winterfell, safe. But there are others when I know that I wouldn't survive this if you weren't with me."

          Amina put her hands on his cheeks, and ensured he was looking into her eyes. "I will always be with you. Always." She believed it, and not only that, she wanted it. She wanted to end this war and return to Winterfell with him, to find some other way to appease the Freys and keep Robb to herself. Though a part of her would always mourn the life she could have had with Jon, she knew it was gone. Robb was more than a second choice, and with time Amina would grow to love him the way Catelyn had Ned.

          She kissed him, softly, and then pulled away. "The men are ready to ride for Riverrun. I'll tell them you need a bit more time."

**♔ ♔ ♔ ♔**

          The great hall of Riverrun felt overbearing. The lords and ladies of the North and the Riverlands argued and debated, but their voices had grown muffled. Amina wanted nothing more than to return to her chambers and cry herself to sleep. Ned was gone, and Hoster Tully would be the next to die, and the only thing this bloody room cared about was which King they should support.

          She was sure Catelyn felt the same, but they'd been seated at opposite ends of the table. For appearances sake, Amina couldn't even hold Robb's hand. She tried to listen, to learn the names and faces of the Riverlords, to be useful. Renly Baratheon had crowned himself king, much to the surprise of the realm. There'd been no word from Stannis yet.

          Not that Amina wanted to support either Baratheon. Renly had no right to the throne and Stannis was nothing special if the talk was to be believed. But on the other hand, there was Joffrey, Robert's son, the true King. At Winterfell, the boy had been entitled and rude, and in the months since had proved to be more like the Mad King come again than his father's son. There was no good choice.

          "Why not peace?" Catelyn asked.

          The lords looked toward her, and Robb shook his head as he unsheathed his sword and laid it on the table. "My lady, they murdered my lord father, your husband. This is the only peace I have for Lannisters."

          Amina had to agree. This war would not end just because they willed it so. There was too much pain now; the realm could never be as it had been. "Could Ned have made peace with Aerys after Brandon and Rickard's deaths?" Amina asked, speaking for the first time. "Even if we bent the knee, this distrust and anger and bitterness will not go away. Why make peace today if we have to pick up our swords again tomorrow?" Brynden voiced his agreement and many other lords followed.

          "Then what would you do?" Catelyn asked her. The look in her eyes made Amina sit quietly for a moment, to think about her answer. If she were more than just a Corrigan, if she was the Princess she'd been born to be, what  _would_  she do?

          "I would not bow to a Lannister," Amina stated. "Baratheon or not, Joffrey is his mother's son, and the Lannisters cannot be trusted or forgiven. They must face justice."

          "I agree," Lyman Darry spoke up. He was Lord Darry now that his father had died fighting the Lannisters. He had a newborn son and a humble castle, a life he wanted to protect, things worth fighting for. "Whether we win or lose, we have no choice but to fight. To bow to the Lannisters is to spit on the graves of those they have killed."

          "Would you bow to Renly?" Robb asked, looking at Amina. He waited for her answer like his own decision would hinge on hers, like they were the only people in the room. She thought again of Beldain, of running away and taking Robb with her. But nowhere was safe, nowhere was far enough to escape the Lannister threat. Like Lord Darry, Amina had things she wished to fight for as well.

          "No, I would not. Nor Stannis, neither." Amina drew one of her knives and looked at herself in the reflection on the blade. "We are Northerners. We are made of ice. When has winter ever stopped for anyone?"

          Greatjon Umber banged his fist on the table so loudly every head snapped in his direction. "Lady Corrigan is right. What do Southorn kings know of the Wall or the wolfswood or the barrows of the First Men? Even their  _gods_  are wrong." The man unsheathed his greatsword. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we married, and the dragons are all dead!" Lord Umber pointed the sword at Robb. " _There_  sits the only king I mean to bow  _my_  knee to, m'lords. The King in the North!"

          Lord Umber knelt and placed his sword at Robb's feet, Lord Karstark followed, then Maege Mormont. Even the Riverlords joined in. Lyman Darry and Jason Mallister, the ever-feuding Blackwoods and Brackens.

          Amina looked at Robb and she was sure there was dragonfire in her eyes, the kind that could burn down kingdoms and forge new ones in their place. Amina turned her knife toward the table and thrust it down so it stuck up out of the wood. She smiled and added her voice to all the others, "The King in the North!"


	15. Jaime I

****N**** ine days had passed since he’d been thrown into the cells of Riverrun. At least he thought it had been nine days. He lost count after the first night. Jaime was almost certain they were bringing his meals at odd hours to disorient him. But still, all things considered, he was fine.

          War was tedious; this was a well-deserved break. He would be back on his horse fighting soon enough. His father would ransom him for the Stark girls any day now, and he would be back between Cersei’s legs where he belonged.

          At least, that is what Jaime wanted to believe. But one could only imagine fantasies of returning to King’s Landing and a hero’s welcome for so long before they began to crumple. In truth, Tywin Lannister was too smart and too stubborn to trade his Stark hostages for his son, even if Jaime was his  _favorite_  son.

          When the door cracked open, he expected to see his gaoler bringing a meal of stale bread and thin broth. Instead it was a girl. Though she did have a bowl in one hand, and a cup of in the other. “What, no bread?”

          The raven-haired girl looked down at the bowl, then back at him with a raised eyebrow. “This is better than you deserve. The cells of Riverrun spoil their prisoners.” She offered him the bowl and cup. Jaime reached, but the chains were short and she was just out of reach. He suspected she knew that.

          She smirked, and her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. That was when he realized whom he was dealing with. “Ah, if it isn’t the Queen in the North herself.” Amina shook her head. The last time Jaime had seen her, she was dressed in a fine gown and hanging onto his arm. They’d traded japes about King Robert. She even made him laugh. He did not feel much like laughing at the present. “I forget, have you married him yet? I suppose not, otherwise you’d have a pretty little crown.” She made a gesture that suggested she would have crossed her arms if her hands weren’t full. “Now I remember. You aren’t betrothed to him, because you aren’t anyone. Isn’t that right?”

          To Amina’s credit, she didn’t so much as squirm.  _Impressive_ , Jaime thought,  _either she doesn’t know, or she’s just a very good liar._ Hisbet was on the latter. “Do you want to eat or not?” She asked, waving the bowl and looking bored.

          “By all means…” Amina took a half step closer, just enough to let him take the bowl and cup from her hands. As soon as her hands were free, she stepped back out of reach and crossed her arms with a frown. “I do wonder though, what was Eddard Stark planning to do with you? He was too honorable to ship you off as some liege lord’s bride. No, that wouldn’t be fitting for a princess, not even a  _exiled_  princess.”

          Her eyes flashed vivid lilac for the briefest moment. Amina rolled her shoulders back, with a look of defiance, but she was silent. “But the heir to the North is a much more suitable match. Though, if you ask me, Robb Stark is still far below your station. Perhaps a  _second_  daughter could settle for the North, but-”

          “But, I didn’t ask you,” she said.

          Jaime’s words died on his lips. He smirked instead. “No, I suppose you didn’t.” He lifted the bowl to his lips and took a sip. The broth had grown tepid, but it was chilly soup or hunger, and he needed his strength. “Ah, well, love is such a precious thing, and it’s clear the Young Wolf adores you. I would wager a wedding is on the horizon, though how he’ll explain it to his lords, I don’t know.”

          “Even if I wanted to be wed in the midst of war, he’s betrothed to another,” Amina said flatly. “And what would you know of love?”

          “More than you might think, little queen.” She raised an eyebrow but kept her lips pressed together. She must think very little of him if she believed his heart so cold he was incapable of love. How far they had fallen since Winterfell’s great hall. “You must not love him, elsewise you’d be rushing to crown yourself.” He hummed, thinking. “There must be another. But who? Not the Greyjoy boy, he inherited his father’s charms. You wouldn’t be the type to fall for some commoner or lesser lord, no. That only leaves the bastard, noble-blooded  _and_  mysterious.” She squared her jaw and Jaime laughed. “Right on the first guess!”

          “This was pointless,” the princess muttered, she started for the door.

          “A thousand men would die for the chance to wed a dragon, even now,” Jaime said. Amina stopped in her tracks, turning slowly. “Kings are springing up left and right, wouldn’t it be interesting if there was a Queen?”

          There was a question on her lips. It was obvious Amina wanted to ask how he knew so much, but she would never speak the words. Robert hadn’t known, Eddard was smart enough to keep that piece of information to himself. Jaime supposed there was a plan to reveal her to the crown eventually, along with a promise she’d marry into the North and never threaten Robert’s rule. It couldn’t even be said for certain that Tywin Lannister knew. Jaime certainly hadn’t told him, and there weren’t many others alive who knew of the girl. But Jaime had been in King’s Landing when Aerys summoned his infant daughter. The Mad King thought together they would be reborn amongst fire as dragons. Jaime had put a stop to that.

          “You aren’t the only one, you know,” Jaime said. She froze, in the low lighting of the cell her eyes looked dark as a stormy sky. Amina looked at him for a long moment, and then finally she whirled around and disappeared through the door as quickly as she came.

          The monotony resumed. Jaime expected Amina’s curiosity would draw her back, but day after day went by – at least he thought they were days – and she never returned. 


End file.
